


Fate of the Forsaken

by Dlxm950



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Betrayal, Character Death, Character Study, Death, F/F, F/M, Forsaken, Gen, Genocide, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other, Racial Study, Racism, Sacrifice, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:01:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dlxm950/pseuds/Dlxm950
Summary: We never see the knife before it plunges into our backs. Only the tip as it carves through our hearts.Mordred in the grand Librarian of the Forsaken Library beneath the Scarlet Monastery. He never really did anything important beyond assisting with information requests for the various war fronts. Now he's been summoned to Orgrimmar to fulfill a role he never thought he would have to play.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. The Beggining

Mordred had never been a position of any particular importance among the Forsaken. In his life, he had been in charge of the library of Lorderon, it had been his task to maintain their rich history and culture no matter how little respect any of it was given. It had been a good job, he got paid 100 gold at the end of each month, more than enough to feed his family and warm their home. 

At least until Prince Arthas returned.

He could still remember seeing him at the time and wondering just what had happened to the kind Prince who used to thirst for endless knowledge within their people’s ancient texts. Mordred had barely even gotten a glimpse of the returning prince before he found that cursed blade piercing through his gut.

Then darkness. Glimpses of rage and chaos. An endless hunger for death and destruction. 

Then clarity once more. Surrounded by many others just like him, confused, horrified, lost. Maybe a hundred thousand of them at most, somewhere in the Plaguelands, finally free from the curse of the Scourge. Then there was their Queen. As ethereal and powerful as any god. She gathered them, rallied them, focusing them together into one unified people. 

The Forsaken were born.

They fought the Scourge anywhere they could. Repelling them from Horde and Alliance lands, fighting back the Scarlet Crusade as they searched for anywhere to call their own. Eventually, fate brought them to the gates of a broken Lorderon, decrepit and shattered on the outside but its foundations standing as strong as ever. They descended into its depths and from them came forth the Undercity.

At first, they sought to forge alliances with their nearest neighbours, those of the Alliance. People they once called their brothers and fought tooth and nail to defend.

They were greeted with death and ruin at the gates of Stormwind. The new high king of the Alliance of Lorderon, now Stormwind, refused to see them as anything more than a rouge faction of Scourge. Just as deadly as the original and unfit to be trusted with the honour of joining the Alliance. So their Dark Lady turned to the only other option, the Horde. With them, they found, if nothing else, those who would refrain from sticking a knife in their backs. Over time, after many battles and hardships, their alliance grew. Forged in blood and honour, they were no longer the former humans of Lorderon but the Forsaken of the Horde. 

For his part during all of this Mordred wrote it all down. He had never been one for fighting, so early on he had requested to form and lead a new Forsaken library. A place for them to maintain their knowledge and organize it in a way that would be useful should it be required further down the line. After a time, when the Lich King had been defeated but long before the start of the Cataclysm, his request was granted. 

So started his grand project. He brought together all the texts of the Horde, both copies and originals, together. Combining them with the dark texts of the Forsaken and even those of the light and void. Under his vision, the Casym of Eternal Knowledge grew, reaching such an extent that he might dare claim that it rivalled even the most ancient of collections in Dallaran itself. Even through the many wars, it grew, during the cataclysm and later conflicts that brought the Hord and Alliance together he used the opportunity to gather as many Alliance tombs that he could. Dwarven, Draenei, Human, even a few ancient texts from the Burning Legion had been acquired. 

Even after the Legions defeat and the relations between the Horde and Alliance began to sour once more his library grew. Teaming with researchers from across all of Azeroth. 

Then the Fourth war came and went. 

His once great library sat empty as Alliance members were expelled and Horde members returned to their homes and families. Mordred’s days turned into battle planning. Finding maps and detailed accounts of Warfronts to assist the war effort. He didn’t follow what was happening, he was far too busy to try and when he occasionally did he was informed he did not need to know.

So imagine his surprise when an Orc descends into his library just beyond the Scarlet Monastery to inform him that his presence was required in Orgrimmar as the ambassador for the Forsaken.

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken.” He responded.

The Orc, a tall brown-skinned Mag’har of the Forstwolf variety easily three times his width and twice his height, looked down at him once with an unimpressed brow before shaking his head. “Regent Lord Theron asked for you specifically.” He grunted out.

That gave Mordred pause. He couldn’t very well turn down a summons by a racial leader, least of all the one trusted by the Dark Queen to protect them should anything happen to her. So with a sigh, he turned around and waved his hand forward in a ‘lead on’ motion. The Orc Grunted once more before turning and walking towards the exit. 

As it turned out it was a rather long walk, Mordred had been working in the back of his great library, so for about five of the thirty minutes it would take them to reach the exit, they walked in an awkward silence, or at least awkward for Mordred. The Orc seemed entirely unfazed by the silence, although that may have had something to do with the fact that while Mordred was very aware that the Orc could snap him in half if he so wished, the Orc had no such fears of anything from Mordred.

Eventually, the silence became too much so with a light cough to catch the Orcs attention Mordred attempted to start a conversation.

“So...what is your name?” Mordred asked kindly, trying as hard as possible to soothe the unnatural rasp of his voice.

The Orc shot him a look from the corner of his eye, pausing in his step as he did so, and for a moment Mordred thought the Orc might just kill him. It was the longest five minutes of his life, being stared down by someone that could so easily kill him, of course, he had interacted with Orcs before but none had ever been this intimidating. Eventually, the Orc released a slight scoff and began his march towards the exit once more. 

Releasing a breath of relief that he was not going to receive his second death Mordred rushed to catch up. They passed many shelves, stocked high with knowledge, some of them he knew intimately through and through, others he knew only by name, and some he had never seen before crossing his vision. So many unique texts, some old and worn, some fresh and new to the world. Mixed and tossed like a salad then organized by their type. He wondered sometimes about their tales. Where did they come from? Who wrote them? Why were they created? Some of the answers he knew for specific books but most were like strangers to him. 

Unfortunately, he wasn’t given much time to ponder those questions as they came upon the exit.

A large stone staircase built in a fan-like shape, wide at the base leading to a narrow entranceway, the great ornate wooden doors he commissioned from Quel’thalas thrown open and allowing the bright midday sun to shine down upon the collection. He frowned at that, and once they reached the top he made his displeasure known to his companion. 

“Do you even have a brain in that thick skull of yours?” Mordred demanded as they stepped through the doors. He rounded on his companion blocking his path and trapping the Orc between the doors and an angry forsaken. The Orc opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted as Mordred launched into his tirade. 

“Nevermind, don’t answer, because the fact that you left the doors open, exposing all of those  _ very delicate _ and  _ ancient _ tombs to raw sunlight without pulling the sunshade down is answer enough. If even a single ray caught one of those pages the book would begin to decay, all of the knowledge within, lost because one stupid Orc couldn’t be bothered to learn the proper procedure for entering one of the greatest collections of knowledge known to any being on the planet! And another thing-” By this point, his Orcish companion was smirking, eyes filled with mirth as his lips stretched out beyond his tusks. It only made Mordred angrier but before he could launch into his next rant a cough behind him had him deflating like a balloon. 

He turned slowly and came face to face with an entire contingency of Horde Soldiers. There pulled tight from the obvious effort of stoping themselves form laughing, a restraint which broke the moment they realized he had seen them. The clearing exploded with laughter as the half a dozen of so Hord soldiers broke into hysterical laughter. If there was ever a moment Mordred was thankful that his undead body could not perform the same functions as a living body it was now, thanking the Dark Lady that his husk of a body could not blush. 

“Where did you find this one?” One of the Orcs within the group asked. “He’s got quite the mouth on him.”

“I would be careful who you laugh at Togosh, and that goes for everyone here, you’re looking at the new Forsaken ambassador.” His companion responded.

At that, the laughter stopped, no not stopped, died. There faces, once filled with humour turned dark, most of them turning their heads and refusing to meet his gaze. For his part, Mordred was very confused, why did his new position cause such a reaction? He looked around the group desperately for an answer but none met his gaze. He opened his mouth to ask but was stopped by his companion. The large Orc simply shook his head before leading him over to a nearby portal. Beyond he could see the telltale spires and red sands of Orgrimmar. 

Just as they were about to step through though he dug his heels in a stopped. He needed answers, this was all too confusing and sudden, something was up and he would be damned if he was going to go through that portal without knowing what it was. 

“What in the name of the Dark Lady is going on?!” He demanded as he rounded on what he now realized was his escort. “You laughed and jested like nothing was wrong but the moment my new station is mentioned you all clam up faster than an oyster in a Merlock camp.” None of the soldiers answered. Their faces solemn and pitying when they eventually met his gaze. 

Not one answered. 

“I am being shoved into a position of leadership I didn’t even know needed to be filled. I am faced with a future I do not know and the only information I have is the fact that you all seem to think it’s a more horrible fate than death.” 

The soldiers all looked at each other. Clearly waiting to see if anyone would rise to his question. Among them, only the High Elf stepped forward, his face mournful and his ears low. 

“Anar’alah belore  Elu'meniel mal alann. Shorel'aran Belore'dorei”

For a few moments, Mordred simply blinked at the elf. His brain translating as much as he could from his limited knowledge of the Quel’thalian language. From what he knew the elf has said something about peace, his heart, and farewell. 

“I don’t know what that means…” He muttered weakly as the Elf turned away. 

And with that last morose conversation, he was lead through the portal. 


	2. The End

Orgimmar was just as Mordred knew it to be. Dry, dusty, and hot. He could feel his skin tightening upon his bones and he attempted to use his clothes to block as much sand from getting into the cracks of his skin as possible. There was a damn good reason the Forsaken lived in damp, cold environments, and it wasn’t for the gothic atmosphere. 

His companion, who’s name he still did not know, led him from the portal room into the streets of Orgrimmar. Strangely enough rather than the vast collection of Horde races he expected a vast majority of the people in the streets were Forsaken. The undead dominated the capital city and they all seemed just as confused as him. A few he knew asked him questions as he walked past, wondering why they were all there, why had they been summoned? He was wondering the same thing. 

A few none Forsaken Horde members were dotted around, mostly guards easily identified by their bright red and deep black armour, but there were a few others as well. Mostly Tauren shamen but a few Trolls and Goblins as well. Strangely enough, they were all shamen. Using their abilities to summon water elementals from which they would gather water to mist the Forsaken unused to the dry heat of Orgrimmar and unprepared to protect themselves from it. One of the goblins sprayed him with some of it and he found that there was something else other than water within it.

So here he was now, in Orgrimmar, with what seemed to be all the Forsaken in the known world. They were being treated and cared for by shamans who smiled and laughed with them but he could see something in the back of their eyes. A deep sadness, a regret, or perhaps some form of pity. Oh they hid it well but he had been seen enough loss to know what that look was. 

They were grieving.

And suddenly all the pieces were falling into place. The group of Horde from the library, his companion’s silence and refusal to tell Mordred his name, the pampering of the Forsaken. This wasn’t a gathering to determine their next leader.

This was a funeral.

“Elu'meniel mal alann…” He muttered. ‘May peace calm your heart’. The realization struck him like a brick. He was going to die, either today or someday soon, and all he could think about was his library. Who would look after it once he was gone? Would they just seal the doors? Leave the last remnant of their people locked behind a doorway two kilometres away from their dead Undercity. 

Then his mind turned to the other Forsaken around him. Some smiling and laughing, truly joyful as they basked in the gathering of their people. His mind turned once more to the water they were being sprayed with. He took a small sniff of his clothing and while his sense of smell was near non-existent it was just strong enough to finally recognize what they strange addition to the water was. It was a spell. An arcane formation combined with nature magic. The scent of ozone and pine trees. He knew this speel well, it had been the first one he had cataloged as a direct request from the Dark Lady herself. 

The Spell of Unmaking. 

A rather horrendous spell created by the Scarlet Crusade for specific use against the Forsaken and the Scourge. Ment to violently separate their souls from their bodies before dissolving them. It had clearly been modified by the shamans and probably the mages as well. The original spell was meant to take effect immediately in a short incredibly painful burst, but this one had been modified, probably slow-acting and made to take effect once all the Forsaken had retired for the night in peace. 

The most peaceful genocide in the history of Azeroth. 

He thought about telling them, pausing in his step and a dark look covered his face, but before he could open his mouth he caught someone’s eye out of the crowd. Lilian Voss was shaking her head, she seemed to know what was happening but has accepted it, her hair slightly damp from the misters. 

His companion was a few feet ahead, clearly having moved forward a few steps before realizing that Mordred wasn’t following, his head low as he refused to look at Mordred or the gathered Forsaken.

“You knew.” It was a statement, not a question. The Orc didn’t respond, he didn’t have to, his body language was enough of an answer. “Well...let us head to the keep...I do not know how much more time we can afford.”

“Enough, should you wish to...spend some time...with your people.” His companion responded. He was clearly uncomfortable with the situation, and Mordred could understand why. To an Orc, whose entire culture was founded on the principles of honour, performing a genocide without even offering the forsaken a chance to fight must have been rather difficult. 

It made him wonder how the new Horde council had decided to do this. 

“I think...I would rather go talk to the council now...I fear for my resolve should I be surrounded by my people with what I now know…”

The Orc simply nodded before turning back around and continuing their march towards the Keep. 

Mordred had never actually been inside the Keep. He had heard all the tales of the terrible and fearsome people who had inhabited it and with that in mind, it seemed rather anticlimactic actually. Had he not know where he was going he might have mistaken the interior for one of the tents the usually set up in Brill when other races visited. 

Somethings did catch his eye as they walked towards the council room. Various trophies collected by previous Warchiefs lined the walls. Garrosh Hellscream’s axe, a pair of demonic wings from a Dreadlord, the helmet of a death knight. They lined the winding hallways like decorations, hanging from the walls or sitting in ornate cases. 

It was like one big record, the Hordes greatest achievements beside their greatest regrets. 

Morbidly Mordred wondered in something would line the walls to represent the mass killing happening outside. 

Eventually, the reached the council chamber, a long line of guards leading up to a large set of ornate doors indicating that their journey had come to an end. His Orcish companion paused at the beginning of the long hallway causing Mordred to do the same.

“This is where I must leave you. The council will call for you in a moment to discuss the final moments of your people.” He told Mordred gruffly. 

“Well… I’d say thank you but I don’t really feel like you deserve it.” Mordred responded.

The Orc just nodded his head before turning to leave. He took three steps before pausing once more and turning back. He seemed to be thinking about something if the way his jaw ground side to side was anything to go by before speaking once more. 

“My name is Throng.” The Orc told him.

It was such a simple name too. No great title or pompous introductions. Just Throng. 

“I’d say it was a pleasure but...well…”

The Orc nodded once more before finally turning and entering the winding hallways to exit the keep and for the first time, Mordred felt truly alone in all this. It had scarcely been an hour since he had been pulled from the back of his library since his entire world had come to screeching halt, and he hadn’t realized just how comforting it had been to have someone beside him until they were gone.

Now he was all alone to stare down his true death.

“The council will see you now.” One of the guards called out to him. 

He nodded at the guard before making his way forward and through the large wooden doors. 

What greeted him was a sight he never thought he would see. Every leader of the Horde sat around a large central table. Baine, Thrall, Lor’themar, every race was represented except the Forsaken and with a start, he realized that was because the only empty seat was meant for him. 

The room sat awkwardly as he slowly made his way to take his eat between Lorthemar and Thalyssra. Various Horde leaders were either trying their damndest not to meet his gaze or were locked in a heated one with another leader; Lor’themar, for example, was glaring down Thrall across the table with eyes sharp enough to carve steel. 

When he did eventually take his seat it felt more like a prison than a privilege. 

For a few more awkward moments no one said anything. They just sat there. One by one each leader turned to face him, not meeting his gaze but making sure he could see theirs. He realized after a few minutes that they were waiting for him to say something. Did they expect him to absolve them of their crimes? To offer them some comfort? Or were they simply waiting for him to explode in anger?

“Why…?” He asked softly at first before frowning and raising his voice enough for all of them to hear. “Why?”

No one responded. Rather Thalysrra gently placed a piece of paper in front of him. It was long and winding, full of needlessly complicated bureaucracy and demands. Eventually, he realized that this was a peace treaty, the peace treaty for the Fourth War. There were sections on territory transfers, trade deals, reparations from both sides, but one, in particular, was highlighted. It was near the end, just beneath a section describing how the Horde would help rebuild Darkshore, in neat common scrawl. 

All Forsaken are to be cleansed from Azeroth in compliance with the accepted terms by the Gilnean and Night Elf Parties.

They were a condition on a peace treaty. Just when he thought this couldn’t be any worse fate had to throw the Forsaken one last curveball. They were to be betrayed, again. First betrayed by their prince who killed them the first time, then betrayed by their Dark Lady whom they place of a pedestal above all others, and now by the Horde who used them like nothing more than bargaining chips to get what they want.

It was sickening.

To think that once upon a time he had thought so highly of these people, who had accepted them to spite their complications. Who, while not at first welcoming them with open arms, did eventually come to accept them. Now he saw the truth, the darkness in the light, their true thoughts brought forward by their actions.

The knife in the back.

“I wonder…” he began, “...just how easy it was for all of you to do this.”

A few heads snapped up at that but before they could try to speak he continued. “I always wondered why the Horde would accept us, you had no reason too, logic dictated that, just like the Alliance, you too would slaughter us at the first opportunity. I suppose I finally have my answer.”

Baine and Thrall, in particular, looked the hardest hit by his words. Along with a few others, just enough to have a majority in any vote. It wasn’t hard to guess who had voted for what. 

“I suppose there’s not much point in me staying here.” He told them as he stood from his seat. Just as he was about to open the door to leave though he turned around once more. “Tell me one thing, just one thing.” All of them were meeting his eyes now, desperate to offer the only explanation they could. “Will this bring eternal peace. When I go back outside the die in the streets with the rest of my people, knowing that the entire world has decided to condemn us to death for crimes we had nop choice in, I want one of you to look me in the eye and tell me that after this day no war will ever grace this planet again.”

For a few minutes, silence rained, he made sure to make eye contact with every leader. Daring them to tell him one more lie. A few opened their mouths to comment but quickly closed them again. 

“That’s what I thought.” He said despondently before leaving. 

He could hear the room explode into shouting the moment the door closed behind him. He paid it no attention. Rather he turned to the nearest guard, a Darkspear Troll, and asked a question.

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to get to the library would you?” He asked kindly. 

“Ay mon, head out of the keep and take a right, da library be the first building on ya right.” The guard responded.

“My thanks,” Mordred responded. “Your kindness is appreciated.”

The guard just nodded his head before returning to his post. Leaving Mordred to walk alone to the library where he would perform the last duty of his undeath. He would make sure that his people were remembered, not for their mistakes or their tragedy, but for their perseverance and kindness in the face of betrayal. He would tell the tale of their greatest accomplishments so that perhaps one day, many years into the future someone would read it and know.

That to be Forsaken was to be more than your ending.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! As always feel free to leave a comment, constructive criticism is always welcome, just try and keep it respectful.


End file.
